


Come Back from San Francisco

by Slinkling



Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-30
Updated: 2009-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-05 12:14:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slinkling/pseuds/Slinkling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're a Luthor and an alien, and crying is not what they do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Back from San Francisco

**Author's Note:**

> Set somewhere in season 2, though I've played fast-and-loose with the timeline and disregarded canon where it suits me. (Helen? Helen who?)
> 
> Written as part of my 69 Love Songs project: an unconnected series of fics whose titles correspond to songs from the Magnetic Fields' album, "69 Love Songs." No, I did not actually succeed in writing 69 stories. This fic's song was #7.

> _You need me like the wind needs the trees to blow in  
> Like the moon needs poetry, you need me_  
>  \- Magnetic Fields

 

In the six months that he's been sleeping with Clark, Lex has had ample opportunity to consider the benefits and drawbacks of a Don't Ask, Don't Tell policy. Back when they first got together, in the tense and bleary weeks that followed the tornadoes, he'd thought he understood what he was signing up for. The benefits centered on seducing a trembling and gorgeous innocent who quickly became a skilled and enthusiastic lover. Amidst the stresses of building his own company, overseeing his father's medical care, and repairing all the damage the storm had done to his castle and his plant, not to mention his only friendship, Lex had found a needed release in Clark's hands and mouth and perfect ass -- and if he'd had to set aside some intriguing investigations in order to win that release, well, Clark compensated him ardently. There really was nothing quite like having a sixteen-year-old farmboy sneak into your bedroom in the middle of the night to awaken you with a long, slow blowjob and a mind-melting fuck, before sneaking back to the farm where you'd see him the next day, all fresh-faced and flannel-clad, grinning as his mother offered you a muffin still hot from the oven.

The drawbacks, though. His father had always taught him that anything which seems too good to be true generally is, and Clark was no exception. Because this arrangement they have (the more time goes by, the more trouble Lex has calling it a relationship) seems to require that Lex occasionally pretend to be blinder than Lionel. He can deal with suppressing the staggeringly obvious questions -- like _How did you get from Smallville to Metropolis faster than my helicopter, Clark?_ and _Why the sudden obsession with these caves, Clark?_ \-- but the less obvious, more insidious questions gnaw at him from the inside. Questions like, _What's it going to take for you to trust me, Clark? Do you think I'm stupid? Are you just whoring yourself to me to make me accept blatant lies?_ Sometimes, and he hates himself for the thought, he thinks that if they had nothing but the sex and the deceptions, things might be okay. But what kills Lex are those _other_ moments. The moments after orgasm when Clark snuggles into him, wrapping him in strong arms that inspire ridiculous thoughts of _safe_ and _sweet_ and _mine_. The random little moments of playing X-Box or eating pizza and laughing until they snarf their drinks. It rips his heart out to think that it's all just another lie to Clark, that affection and friendship and whatever else they're doing are only masks for what Clark won't tell him. What Clark's manipulated him into never even asking about. Who is Lex becoming, here with this boy? No wonder his father thinks he's weak.

The day he decides he can't take it anymore starts off like any other. Clark comes by the mansion after making his afternoon deliveries. They play pool; they watch South Park; Lex lets Clark fuck him in the library, on the floor in front of the fireplace. Afterwards, they lounge together on the sofa, naked and boneless and chatting about nothing, and Clark dozes off. Just before he loses consciousness, he whispers one of those things they never say -- _I love you_ \-- and Lex snaps into full alertness even as Clark nuzzles against his chest, curling around him like he's some kind of goddamn life-size teddy bear. He lies there, eyes open wide, holding Clark and feeling like there's a growing hole inside him and if he doesn't get away soon that hole will be all he is.

***

Lex spends a week in Metropolis, then two weeks in New York. He's meeting people and making valuable connections for LexCorp, even a few fledgling deals; Clark hears about them in two brief emails. That's it. Two emails, not a single phone call, in three weeks. It's enough to make a guy worry that something other than business is keeping Lex away.

As much as he plays dumb for the sake of secrecy, Clark isn't a moron. He knows Lex doesn't have to go across country just to break up with him. But he also knows they've been heading for a blow-up for months now. He's been trying to stave it off, to hold onto this precious thing that they have for just a little bit longer, but he doesn't kid himself. He's known all along that Lex would dump him eventually. It was inevitable. Still, for three weeks, as his longing for Lex builds up and up until he thinks he might explode, Clark tries to persuade himself that he's paranoid. "LexCorp is a young company," Lex had said; "if I want to be a global player, I can't stay in Smallville all the time." And that made sense, Clark got that.

But when Lex finally comes home and comes to see him in the loft and it takes _effort_ to keep to human speeds as he wraps himself around his boyfriend -- even as he peels Lex's clothes away, Clark knows. He wishes it were paranoia. Instead, he can feel it like a sickly certainty, like some awful and obscure new power that he never, ever wanted is suddenly manifesting. The proof is all over Lex's body, maybe not for anyone else to see, but Clark can tell. It's like he has this horrible extra alien sense with one very specific application that makes all his nerve endings crawl: he can detect traces of other people on Lex's skin. Lots of other people. Men and women. He catches whiffs of them on Lex's neck, his hands, his chest. Uncanny flavors of them in Lex's mouth. He can sense them the most strongly when he gets down on his knees and sinks his face into Lex's groin; he has to bite back a scream as all these people, with all their individual signatures, impress themselves on his mind. His hands stall on Lex's hips as he blinks and swallows and tries not to gag.

"What is it, Clark?" Lex asks, breathing hard, his hands already woven into Clark's hair.

For a moment Clark can't speak. Can't bring himself to say _How could you?_ or _Were they better than me?_ or _How many were there?_ He doesn't even want to think that last question, because if he tries he might be able to answer it for himself, and his stomach flips with nausea at the notion. And anyway, hasn't he been waiting for this? For Lex to get angry with him, or even just bored, and seek out someone his own age, someone sexy and glamorous -- or, apparently, a lot of someones? But he has to say something, so at last he rests his head against Lex's thigh. "I missed you," he says, choking around the lump in his throat.

"I'm right here," Lex murmurs, trying to pull Clark's face towards his cock again, and Clark wants him so badly, he's been achingly horny for weeks, and the part of his brain that's learned how to speak Luthor is asking him, _What did you expect?_ Because Lex never promised him anything. There was no commitment to betray. So he pulls off his own clothes numbly, there's nothing to say anyway, and he can let Lex fuck him. He can do that. But as he's pushing down his jeans and his boxers, Lex lets out a hiss of frustration and drops onto the couch with a sigh. "Okay, what?" he demands, and it's like he isn't naked at all. It's like this is a business negotiation.

Which, maybe it is.

Clark doesn't answer for a while, just pulls his pants back up and feels miserable, and after a few seconds the hard look on Lex's face softens. "You have a terrible poker face, Clark."

"I know." He sits on the couch beside Lex, a few inches of polarized space between them. He stares at his knees. There's no way to have this conversation, it's like some big minefield and one step in any direction could blow them both sky-high.

Lex leans towards him. "Did something happen while I was away? Is everything alright?" He speaks almost gently, and the real concern in his voice makes all of this even worse.

"No. I mean, yeah. Nothing. I..." Clark can feel himself tripping over his own tongue, and he tries to come up with some lie that would plausibly get him out of this. All he can think of are all those other people. Women. Men. Touching Lex everywhere.

"Is it your parents? The farm?" Clark looks away. In another minute Lex is going to offer him money, and that's going to hurt worse than meteor rocks.

"Were you... with anyone? While you were away?" He speaks as quietly as he can, like the louder he says it, the truer it will be.

Lex doesn't miss a beat. "I was with people all the time, Clark. That was the point of the trip. What's this about?"

"No, I mean, were you _with_ anyone? Did you..." and he can't say the rest.

Lex pulls back. "What are you asking me? Did I fuck anyone?"

Clark meets his eye on that, and Lex has that Luthor game-face. Perfectly expressionless. "Did you?"

Lex watches him appraisingly, then reaches to the floor for his boxers. "Why? Would it bother you if I did?" He starts to dress.

And how does he do that, anyway? Imply that Clark's some kind of child for caring about this kind of thing? But then, Clark _is_ a child. Isn't that the whole problem? "You still haven't answered."

"What do you want me to say, Clark?" Lex stands, pulls his pants on, fastens his belt smartly.

"I just want the truth," Clark insists. But as soon as he's said it he knows that he's made a mistake. Boom: he just hit a mine. Lex's stare practically resounds with thunder.

With his shirt and tie back in place, Lex looms over him. "I've stopped pressing you on things you don't want to talk about," he says in measured tones. "Maybe you could give me the same consideration."

Clark wants to shrink into the couch cushions. "But—"

"There is no but, Clark. You missed me, and I'm here. What more do you want?"

"Did you miss me?"

Lex pauses at that. "You know, Clark, these last few weeks I've met a lot of people who have lied to me. They've done it right to my face, in board rooms and conference rooms, bars, restaurants, everywhere I've been. And in a way, it was actually refreshing. Because we all knew where we stood. Lies were a given. Do you see what I'm saying?"

Clark winces; mines are exploding everywhere. "No," he lies.

Lex puts on his shoes, then picks up his coat and gives Clark one last look. His game face slips as he reaches out, strokes the side of Clark's face. "I shouldn't have come back," he says sadly. Clark doesn't know if it makes things worse or better that Lex seems to be genuinely upset for a moment before he composes himself and walks away.

***

San Francisco this time, and Lex makes a few hires, finds a new west coast distributor, and starts talking to a venture capital firm about a possible expansion into Mexico, even as he spends every night fucking his way through the club scene, just as he did in New York. There are sleek, adventurous women and polished, glittering men, and every morning Lex finds it harder and harder to face another day. But after that last afternoon with Clark, he's determined: no more guilt, no more unacknowledged secrets, no more puppy eyes and moral judgments and false innocence. Smallville is a shit town anyway, he doesn't know why he thought he could stay there. He could just as easily move LexCorp's base of operations to San Francisco, or really any exciting city. Because he's had enough of the meteor mutants, the assaults, the cover-ups, the goddamn crap factory. He can promote Gabe Sullivan, let him run the plant, and put more of his own time into expansion, killing the competition. He'd be too busy to regret Clark's flawless body or the phenomenal sex or that heartbreaking sweetness that was all based around lies.

By the time he's been in California a month, Lex has acquired a promising biotech startup, secured several lucrative investments, gotten back into drugs. He's made any number of new "friends," he's getting laid right and left, sometimes two and three times a night with different partners, and he's more depressed than he's ever been in his life.

***

Clark knows where Lex is only because Chloe told him. He's had no word from him. By day he moves numbly through his classes and his chores, and at night he replays their final encounter in the barn again and again. The things he knew and didn't say. The things Lex did say. The things he learned from Lex's skin. He finds himself thinking about that more and more: Lex with other people, Lex getting off with people who lie to him and don't pretend otherwise. His father is unreservedly glad that Lex has gone, and Clark knows that his dad has a point, and that he's safer this way. But he's not sure he wants to be safe. Sometimes he thinks about running all the way to California; maybe he could follow his nose and find Lex in the middle of a crowded city and just watch him. Watch what he does, and who he does it with. Maybe that would satisfy this masochistic part of him that can't seem to let go. Except that Lex would surely spot him eventually, and how could he explain? Anyway, he's probably better off not seeing.

A creepy alien parasite from the cave and another dose of red meteor rock change his mind. The experience was a nightmare, but afterwards he can't stop thinking about the way Pete and Chloe just went for the things they wanted. The meteor rock Pete put in his pocket reignited his sex drive and made him want to show off, but if Clark had really had no fears, he knows what he would have done. And once he realizes that, the thought of seeing Lex once more, only once more, haunts him -- so one night before he can talk himself out of it he just goes. He runs to San Francisco. He doesn't even care about getting caught, or at least that's what he tells himself, though he takes the precaution of wearing all black so he'll be just a little less obvious. When he gets there, to this shining, vertiginously hilly city, he has no idea where he's going and the little kid in him wants to run directly home, but then he sees a pair of trendy-looking women around Lex's age checking him out. So he approaches them. Up until the moment that he opens his mouth, he feels entirely like the under-aged hick that he is, but then he starts to talk to them, doing his best impression of Lex, and they eat it up. He remembers how people responded to him when he wore his school ring, like he's sexy and smooth and powerful. These girls tell him where their favorite nightclub is ("Maybe I'll see you there," he smirks, and they simper), so as soon as their backs are turned, he zips across town, following their directions. He scans the place from the outside. No Lex, but he soon meets a totally cute guy who can't be much older than he is, and he gets more suggestions.

An hour and several iterations later, success: through a series of walls, in a back room of a club so discreet most passers-by wouldn't know it was there, he discovers Lex half-undressed, blindfolded, so drunk or high that he can barely stand, and getting groped by four people at once. Watching from an alley outside, Clark stops breathing when he realizes what he's seeing, simultaneously so shocked and so aroused that he thinks if he were human he might pass out. But then he's on the move, his attention fixed on Lex as he all but unconsciously works his way through the doors, past the bouncers, past the crowd, gliding from room to room. He barely notices the people he slides past, insinuating himself between all those bodies, getting to Lex, who by this point is shirtless and cuffed to a wall with his arms overhead, leaning back, still blindfolded as anonymous hands roam over his chest. Clark seizes the moment: he shoulders the others aside and covers Lex's body with his own, one more anonymous partner. Driven by instinct, he presses a thigh between Lex's legs, runs his hands along Lex's sides, sucks a bruise on his collarbone as Lex shivers and moans. "You're mine," Clark whispers in his ear, and Lex shudders and thrusts against his leg, whimpering _"Clark"_ like it's a last prayer before dying.

At the mention of his name, Clark freezes, the reality of his situation crashing down onto him. Lex knows it's him. Lex knows he's there and he shouldn't be. Freaking out over everything he's done so thoughtlessly in the last few hours, Clark lets himself be elbowed out of the way, and keeps backing up until he hits a wall. Someone passes him a drink that he downs without looking at it. It has no effect. He ought to be safe at home in his bed, in Kansas, but instead he rests against a wall in this club, ignoring the hands which ghost over him occasionally, transfixed by the sight of all these strangers molesting his boyfriend.

Or, not his boyfriend. Because there has to be some point of no return in all of this, some point at which Lex has been had by so many other people that Clark can no longer consider him _his_. Except no, he claimed Lex, he said it out loud and Lex said his name, so obviously Lex _is_ somehow still his, even while he's -- oh. While he's doing all kinds of _stuff_, or having stuff done to him, and now Lex's leather pants have come off and Clark just can't watch anymore. So he puts a hand over his eyes, then watches through his own hand anyway, miserable and hard and scared and completely unable to tear himself away.

And when it's all over, when a lot of people who are not Clark have had orgasms, and Lex is sweaty and trembling and getting untied and un-blindfolded, Clark runs -- but only into a different room, one where he can still watch Lex through the walls as Lex rubs his freshly uncuffed hands, restoring his circulation. As Lex wipes himself off with a towel someone's handed to him. As Lex pulls his pants back on, then stops stock still for a second before straightening up and scanning around the room methodically, suddenly alert, blinking to focus his vision in the dim light. He doesn't seem to find what he's looking for.

Clark follows him at a distance, not long after that, when Lex makes his way back to his hotel. He tells himself the whole way that he just wants to see Lex make it safely into bed -- by himself -- and then he'll go home. So he watches through the building as Lex moves through a glitzy hotel lobby, up the elevator, and into his suite, where he pours himself a drink and steps out onto the balcony and looks out over the city. Watching from the shadows, Clark thinks Lex looks tired. He grimaces with annoyance at himself for even noticing; of course Lex looks tired, given the evening he's had, and anyway, shouldn't Clark just be royally pissed at the guy? But he feels too dislocated to be pissed; instead he focuses on the sag of Lex's shoulders, the desultory way that he sips at his drink. He looks tired and lonely, if a person can be said to be lonely when he's just had all that sex.

Before Clark can really think about it, he's heading into the hotel, into the elevator, pushes the button for Lex's floor, and it feels almost like an out-of-body experience by now, or like a dream, like he's not in control of himself and maybe when the elevator doors open he'll be someplace else entirely, or back in his bed at home. Or maybe he'll be flying like he sometimes does in his dreams. Except none of that happens, he just gets out of the elevator and steps into an expensive-looking hallway -- and how can it be possible that even the hallways look expensive? After all those months with Lex he should be used to it, but Lex's world is still foreign to him. And anyway, here he is at Lex's door, and he stands there and considers knocking, considers running away while he still can, scans through the door and sees that Lex is now in the shower. _Good_, he thinks, and he forces the doorknob and goes in and takes his clothes off and gets into Lex's bed. And waits. And eventually Lex finishes his shower and wraps himself in a hotel robe and comes out -- and sees him.

"I'm not here," Clark blurts out.

Lex just stares at him, expressionless. Well, almost expressionless. No surprise, no anger, no happiness, nothing readable, but there's _something_ in his eyes. Clark can't tell if it's a good something or a bad something, and anyone who didn't know Lex really well might not see it at all, but it's definitely something.

He says nothing, though, and after the first few seconds Clark feels like an idiot. A young, naked, dumped idiot. "You want me to leave," he says. But Lex shakes his head ever so slightly, and moves forward, crawling onto the bed until he's almost upon Clark. Up close, Clark can see the dark circles under Lex's eyes, and he tries not to smell all the people whose residues he can still sense on Lex's skin.

"You're not here," Lex says quietly.

"We're dreaming," Clark tells him, and he isn't entirely sure that this isn't true.

Lex looks very sad then, and Clark opens his arms and Lex collapses into them. Clark holds his boyfriend and thinks that if they were anybody else they'd be crying now. But they aren't anybody else. They're a Luthor and an alien, and crying is not what they do. Because it is too honest.

"Don't leave, Clark," Lex murmurs.

Clark closes his eyes. "Not until morning," he whispers back.

For a few hours they hold each other. Still wrapped in his robe, Lex drifts off to sleep. Clark doesn't dare; if he's still there come sunrise, he'll face not only a supremely impossible conversation with Lex but also two righteously enraged parents when he makes it back to the farm. So instead he just lies there, softly stroking Lex's terry-cloth-covered back, and wondering what the hell he's doing. Around 4am he tries to extract himself silently, so he can run back to Kansas and hate himself forever, but Lex stirs and wakes.

"Lex," Clark whispers, intending to say goodbye, but Lex puts a hand to his lips and shushes him gently before the words can come out.

"We're dreaming," he reminds Clark, and Clark lets Lex draw him into a kiss. It is slow and sleepy and tender, nothing like the rough caresses at the club. Lex's fingertips run over Clark's cheekbone, skim down his chest and belly and find his cock, which barely needs encouragement before it is painfully, weepingly hard. With an expert hand Lex grips and strokes him the way he knows Clark likes, while Clark clutches Lex's robe in one fist and the pillow in the other and sobs into Lex's mouth. The whole night has been a step out of time, like Clark took some strange exit from his own story, but he needs to go home soon and he might never see Lex again, he wishes he could make this last -- yet too soon he is arching and coming, struck as though by lightning that whites out everything. Lex holds him through his climax, and as Clark comes back to himself he kisses him again with eyes closed.

Unwillingly, Clark pulls away. "I have to go," he whispers.

"You were never here," Lex responds, and he lets go and rolls over, turning his back to Clark.

Clark watches him as he gets dressed. Lex doesn't move. He wants to say goodbye, but maybe that's against the rules somehow, too stark an acknowledgement of this. Their ending. So instead Clark just takes a deep breath and then forces himself to walk away, to leave this bedroom and this suite and this hotel, and there's just the faintest light in the sky as he breaks into a run, heading east as fast as he possibly can.

He gets home in time to do his morning chores and then shower and go to school. He barely speaks to his parents, but he's been working the sullen teen angle for well over a month now, and they don't ask any questions.

All through his classes, all through helping Chloe at the Torch on her follow-up to the parasite story, Clark is exhausted and determinedly Not Thinking About It. But even so, images of Lex in the club, Lex getting fucked, Lex crawling into his arms and collapsing, play on constant repeat in his head all day. When he gets home he heads for the barn because he doesn't want to risk running into his mom; if she takes a good look at him and asks what's wrong, he's likely to unravel. And he can't unravel because there is homework to do and anyway he is Not Thinking About It. He trudges up the stairs to his loft, and then he thinks he's dreaming again, because there Lex is. In his loft. On the couch. Looking immaculate and tense and something else that Clark can't name.

"You're here?" Clark asks, and blushes, because what a stupid thing to say and he's just alluded to the thing he can't talk about and oh god.

But Lex smiles. One of those smiles that's genuine even while it doesn't reach his eyes. "I missed you," he says simply.

And soon enough Clark finds himself grinning so wide it almost hurts his cheeks, and Lex gives him the smile he recognizes from the best times they've had, like he's as happy as Lex ever gets, which isn't very but he'll take it. He climbs the last few steps and Lex stands up and they meet each other in a strong, tight hug. Lex sinks his nose into Clark's hair and inhales deeply; Clark nuzzles his cheek against Lex's scalp and closes his eyes, sighing blissfully. He knows that this can't last, knows that they still have all the problems they had before, and sooner or later either his secret has to come out or else it's all going to blow up in his face, but even so he's happy and relieved. Because Lex is _his_, at least for a while longer, and that's really all he wants.


End file.
